Why Me?
by Sweet Little Darling
Summary: Natasha Romanoff hates a lot of things. But the thing she hates the most is feeling weak. Being sick with flu definatly counts as a weakness. As if that wasn't humiliating enough Clint volunteers to nurse her back to health, will he finally reveal his true feelings? One Shot! Clint/Natasha.


Why Me?

"Romanoff," Nick Fury barked. "Are you alive?"

Natasha Romanoff had to close her eyes for a few seconds when Fury asked her that. She had to tilt her head to the side, just a little bit to avoid blacking out completely. She tried to ignore the beats of sweat that were on her forehead and were sailing down her cheeks.

Worse of all she had to pinch her arm, just to keep standing up.

She felt Clint gently steadying her. "Nat, you ok?"

Her green eyes flashed open and just like that she was back. "Perfect, Barton," she scoffed. "Now back off."

She faced both the director and Maria Hill. They looked impatient and annoyed, at best in a no joking mood.

"Sorry about that Director, I spaced out." She apologized.

The director rolled his eyes, but noticed something off about the assassin. It wasn't like Natasha to just space out. Just like it wasn't like her to look like she was in pain while there were no bullets or blood in or pouring out of her body.

It also wasn't normal that Clint kept looking at her with concern. It wasn't that Clint didn't care about his teammates, it was just that he had never seen her likes this. Looking like she might fall down at any moment.

He had suspected that she wasn't a 100% well when him and Nat had first been assigned the mission in the first place, but hadn't question the assassin about it. She was a big girl. She could take care of herself. Today however he was having second thoughts.

Natasha meanwhile just wished that Fury would shut up so she could crawl in bed and sink herself into oblivion until this cold passed. It's worse, she though to herself when she again felt the queasiness in her stomach. Please, don't let it be the stomach flu, please don't let it be-

That thought was her last as she felt the whole room spin around so fast that she could barely make out the colors, let alone the faces of the people in the room. She heard her name, being frantically called out a few times before she blacked out completely.

Clint looked at Natasha who had fainted in his arms. Well, not exactly he had kind of sense that she was going to faint when she closed her eyes and tilted back with no desire of ever getting up.

He had managed to swiftly position himself next to Natasha and catch her in his arms to break her fall.

"Nat?" he looked at her pale face helplessly. "Hey, Nat wake up. Come on Tasha."

"She's unconscious, Barton," Maria said obviously. "She's not going to respond. At least not for an hour or two."

"Was she injured?" Fury asked perplexed. "Barton, did something happen in this mission that you didn't tell me about?"

Clint blushed. There was nothing hidden mission related that had happened in Vietnam. However if he had asked if anything happened between them, personal wise then he'd be force to admit that they had been involved. . .sexually. It hadn't been the first time, though. They had done it a few times before, but this had been the first time to Clint that it had somehow felt more, real to him than the other times.

"No," Clint responded. "No, sir. I think, I think she's just sick."

Fury still looked perplexed.

"I think I better take her to the infirmary," he said. "Or better yet to her room." It was obvious that Fury wasn't used to dealing with sick patients.

"You do that," Fury still looked confused as if he never truly seen a person passed out before. "Hill, come with me I need you to show me the data reports."

Maria followed him, still looking at Clint and Natasha. "Barton, you sure you're going to be ok?"

"Yep," he nodded. "Just a cold, I'm sure."

Once Maria and Fury left, Clint unbend his knees and struggled to stand up while at the same time holding Natasha still.

"Sorry about that," he grunted. Natasha's red hair fell across his shoulder. "Oh, what's the point? You can't even heard me. Nat? Nat? Yohoo?" Natasha still didn't respond. Clint sighed, cursing himself for being such a jackass and took her up to her room.

It took hours for Natasha to wake up and when she did, she vowed that she would never do anything that would require her to pass out again. For starters, the pounding in her head was no joke and it felt like she had been dropped from a building (which she had once) and she felt sweaty and sticky and just plain, sorry to say it. . .but ew.

"So, you're finally awake?" said an amused tone.

Natasha blinked once. "Barton?" she questioned on what may have been her guarding angel. He had changed out of his work clothes and had a plain white t shirt and jeans. He looked at her with both amusement and concern.

"What are you doing here?" she retorted, sounding unkind.

"Oh, come on," Clint said with that annoying smile. "That's the thanks again, after I save you from being pummeled into the ground?"

Natasha scrunched up her nose. "What?" What on earth was he talking about, she hadn't been pummeled, not that she could remember at least. What had happened anyway? She though and then remembered briefly her meeting with Fury and Maria and then everything becoming black. "Oh, oh."

"Yes, oh," he said the smile finally disappearing from his thin lips. He put a cool hand to her burning forehead. "Do you even remember anything?"

"Of course I do," she lied slapping his hand away. "What kind of fool do you think I am?"

"A lying fool," Clint said the smirk finally returning to his lips. "Admit it, you don't even know what happened. I knew from the moment I saw your face, you looked completely clueless."

"All right I don't now what happened," she snapped. "Care to enlighten me?"

She hated when Barton acted smart ass about something. He wasn't allowed to be smart ass about something, only she was.

"Well to make things simple," he said as she stood up. "You fainted."

Natasha's snorted. "Thanks, Sherlock, I couldn't have done it without you."

"That's not all, Miss Jump To Conclusion," he said slightly annoyed. "Bruce was here. He said that you've got bad case of the flu. So you're going to be in bed for a little while."

"Bruce is a liar, I don't have the-" as soon as the words were going to escape her mouth, she felt her stomach rebelling. She put a hand over her mouth to prevent the content from spilling out and ran to the nearest bathroom.

She dropped the contents in the toilet and keep dry heaving for a few minutes before she collapse on the bathroom floor, breathing heavily and sweating.

Clint stood at the side of the bathroom door, his hands crossed over his chest and watching her in amusement as if he were at the zoo.

"Maybe, he isn't so completely lying." Natasha whispered. Everything was becoming black again. She closed her eyes and a minute later it was gone.

"That's my girl," he said as he crouched down besides her and bended down so closed to her face that he thought he was going to kiss her. "Bed?"

"Bed." she concluded, though she wondered how she was going to get up in the first place.

Her question was soon answered when Clint picked her up in his strong arms and position her in his arms. She was resting her head on one of his biceps, and her legs dangled from his other arm like a rag doll.

"Hey!" she squeaked. "I can walk by myself!"

Clint rolled his eyes. "Sure you can."

"CLINT!" she demanded hoarsely. "PUT ME DOWN!"

"I don't think so, Romanoff," Clint said and Natasha could swear that he was close to laughing and she wanted to kick him.

"Clint."

"Natasha."

"Put me down." she insisted again, though there was no point since they were in front of her bed.

He shrugged. "All right," and he dropped her, quite unceremoniously on the bed. Natasha landed with a small thud, which wasn't so easy on her stomach.

"Thanks." she called back sarcastically. "Real helpful."

He shrugged innocently. "You're call."

Natasha shivered as she got under the covers and pulled the thin blue blanket up to her chin. Her teeth were chattering from how cold she felt, but she tried to ignore it by curling into a small ball. Clint was still staring at her which made her feel a thousand times worse, and she felt little tears threatening to crawl out at any moment.

God, she hated feeling like this, so weak and pathetic looking. She wouldn't have blamed Clint one bit if he dumped her and decided to get a new partner. Someone who was stronger, and braver and wasn't brought down by a stupid cold. Someone like Maria Hill maybe,. . .

What was she even thinking? She had just made it seem like she and Clint were actually dating, as if. They had never been out on a date, they just been very involve with each other a few times, but that's it.

"Why would he want a freak like me anyway?" she thoughts sadly. "Why me? What would he do with an assassin who gets beaten by a cold. Clint deserves someone pretty and smart and more talented than me. Why would he want me? I'm nothing."

Natasha shivered into the covers and she could feel the effects on the fever reappearing. Pounding headache, the inability to breath normally, sweaty, clammy palms.

She hated feeling like this, feeling weak, feeling useless. Right now she should have been saving the world from robbers and instead she was here feeling sorry for herself. She was truly pathetic.

"Nat?"

Natasha raised her head slightly, but almost immediately regretted it.

"Yes?" she squeaked.

Clint looked at her with something that she could only describe as pity. "I need to take your temperature," he said awkwardly. "To see if you still have a fever." He looked like he was blushing.

Why on earth was he blushing? She though as she sat up. Clint handed her the thermometer and unwillingly put in in her mouth. She handed it to Clint who frowned. "101.6 You still have a fever."

She shrugged. "It will go away. It always does."

"Are you sure or do you want to go to the infirmary or something-"

"Clint," she said rather harshly. "No."

"Sorry," he backed down. "Calm down."

"I am calm!" she protested. "What's wrong with you? Why are you acting so strange?"

"I'm not acting strange," he defended himself. God, why did the assassin had to look so ridiculously cute? Didn't she knew what she was doing to him? How she was driving him nuts?

He and Nat had been partners for years, and he had never felt something for her, but right now he wasn't so sure. Maybe something had changed between them.

"Then why are you so sensitive?" she snapped, her anger rising. She started feeling dizzy again and had to grip her pillows to keep still.

Clint gaped at her. "Oh, Nat are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she insisted firmly. "Now are you going to tell me why you're acting so weird?"

"No," he couldn't tell her how he felt about her. It was too soon. She was sick. She was in no position to choose right now. And why on earth would she choose you Barton, a nasty little voice said inside his head. She's smart and talented and beautiful what would she want with someone like you? You're right, he though. Why would she want someone like me?

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Are you ever going to tell me?"

He shrugged as he kissed her hot forehead. "Someday," he whispered as he left the room. "Feel better Nat."

Natasha palmed the place where he had kissed her. She already felt better.

The End!

**I hope that little one shot wasn't too horrible, I hoped you liked it, I wanted to do a little Clintasha one shot, so here it is. Please review!**


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